Hidden Fears
by Elinde
Summary: When Bard gives Thranduil the Arkenstone for the night for safe keeping, history could be about to repeat itself. Or could it? -The continuity error with the mirror and the comb is intentional


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I know; so sad. **

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Bard drew long on his pipe and the exhaled. A stream of smoke spilled from his mouth and spiralled round to the top of the tent. Thranduil looked at his askance.

"Must you do that in here?"

Bard breathed out the last traces of smoke and leant back on his chair, "It calms my nerves."

"I know that but it fills the air with a heady stink. Could you not smoke outside where it is free to climb up into the open air?"

"It is cold outside," Bard replied, drawing on his pipe again and breathing out slowly, "Let me just smoke these last leaves, then I shall stop."

Thranduil turned his gaze back to the map, "You've done the worst already," he muttered. "No, you smoke as much as you wish, my friend. I shall spend the night out in the open again. I do not feel the cold."

Bard bashed out his pipe and stowed it away, "You shall do no such thing. You haven't slept – even how the Elves call 'sleep' – since we made camp. Tonight, you shall by my orders."

"I take orders from no one. And I am rested enough."

Bard smiled slowly, got up and stretched. "Please, my lord king, it would ease my conscience at least." Thranduil looked up at him sternly but Bard met his gaze. After a while, then, the Elvenking sighed and rolled up the map.

"Fine, if it would put you at ease," he conceded.

Bard nodded slightly, "Thank you.

"For myself, I shall spend this night watching the camp. I have yet to learn how it feels during the hours of darkness." His hand went into his cloak and came out with a small box, "And I beg one more favour."

"What?" Thranduil asked, taking off his boots, belt and tunic and placing his knife near his pillow.

"Could you keep this safe?" The man asked, handing the box to his fellow leader, "I fear Dwarf spies; I will not suffer it to fall into Thorin's hands before we have made a bargain with him."

Thranduil sat on his low bed and put his hands together, gazing at the box. When he looked up at Bard his gaze was sad, "And how will I protect it better if I am asleep?"

"I usually put it under my pillow," Bard said, placing the box in the Elvenking's hands, "even I would notice if someone tried to move my head."

Thranduil looked from Bard to the box and, when his attention was diverted, Bard slipped out.

"Please don't make me-" Thranduil began only to find that he was talking to himself, "-keep it." He finished anyway.

Sighing, he did as bidden and, despite the box's unforgiving shape, he was soon asleep.

Dawn woke him. Mumbling as he rubbed the sleep out if his eyes, he rolled over and sat up. The camp was already noisy and he sourly wondered how much he had missed while asleep. He slid out of bed, got dressed and ran his hands through his hair. Wishing he had both a mirror and a comb, he opened the tent flap and stepped out into the familiar hubbub. Fires for breakfast, hot water and the warming of hands burned everywhere. Elves ribbed Men for needing such warmth in the cold only to sit as close to the fires as they could themselves.

Thranduil rubbed his eyes again and suddenly remembered what Bard had asked of him the night before. Groggily, he meandered back into the tent and took the box with the Arkenstone in it out from under his pillow and clipped it safely to his belt. He picked up the comb from the table by his bed and brushed his knotted hair – this is what happens when one sleeps lying down. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and decided that it wasn't perfect but it would have to do.

He ducked out of the tent again and by now the camp was settling down to another day of besieging the Mountain. The Sinda groaned. He didn't dare think how many years he had spent sitting in front of various enemy strongholds. It got boring after a while.

"Morning, your majesty."

"Good morning, Bard," Thranduil replied, turning to look at Bard who was on a horse for some odd reason.

"I have been asked to ride back down to Esgaroth," he explained, "to make sure that the building work is going to plan." Thranduil nodded. "Would you mind looking after the Arkenstone until I return? I should be back within a fortnight."

"Well-"

"Please, you're the only person who I trust and can take this charge."

"What about Gandalf?"

"He is looking after Bilbo Baggins and can't possibly look after two such important things at once; it wouldn't be fair."

"No you're right; it wouldn't. Fine, I'll do as you bid. Safe journey!"

"I shall return as soon as I can," Bard promised, turning his steed and cantering off down the valley.

Thranduil waved until Bard was swallowed up by the early morning mist and the smoke from the fires and then went in search of Gandalf. Both the wizard and Bilbo were sat at the side of the main 'road' through the camp smoking.

"You have been up all of an hour and you are already smoking?" The Elf asked in surprised. Gandalf looked him up and down from under his bushy eyebrows,

"Do you have a problem with that?" He asked, a twinkle in his eye, "Last night Bard told me that you were chiding him for smoking inside your tent."

"That is true-"

"But we aren't outside, therefore there is no problem."

Thranduil tried to glare at the Maia but found he couldn't for long, "One day I will get the better of you!" He vowed, smiling despite himself.

"May that day be soon," Gandalf muttered, taking in another lungful of smoke and blowing it out as a smoke ring.

"Eldu!" Galion called from among the crowd. All three people looked in its direction and very soon the butler appeared before them, "Gandalf, Mr Baggins," he said hurriedly to the others before turning to his king, "The sentinels are adamant that a Dwarf has passed them. They do not know how and the maps around the camp aren't accurate enough to show how the Dwarf got through."

"The map in mine and Bard's tent is far more accurate. Wait here, I'll go and get it," Thranduil said, turning round and stepping out of the way of eight men who were carrying two boats to the Mountain from the Lake. When they had passed by he ran back to his tent and took the map from the table.

"I'd better check that the Arkenstone is safe," he whispered, holding the rolled up map in his left hand and unhooking and opening the box with his right. There it was; white and glittering like stars just as it always had.

He looked up and saw the reflection in the mirror. Thingol stared back at him, holding the necklace in which the white Silmaril was set in the hand on Thranduil's right; the same hand in which he held the Arkenstone. Thranduil looked down at the Arkenstone again and his reflection looked at the white Silmaril.

Noises from outside took his attention away from the jewel. Guards close by were yelling that they had seen the Dwarf. Thranduil blinked slowly and span the box round subconsciously in his hand. As he looked for his weapons, a noise from the tent's entrance made him look in the mirror – it reflected the tent flaps behind him. His heart seemed to stop.

There was the Dwarf.

"You know what I want," it said, its voice laced with black humour. Thranduil blinked and his silver-haired reflection mimicked him. "Just give me the jewel," The Dwarf said, walking slowly towards Thranduil's back, hand extended.

"I can't," Thranduil said.

"Why not?"

"If I did we won't be able to bargain with you."

"You think you have a choice?" The Dwarf asked, taking a heavy battle axe from behind his back.

"I won't give it to you!" Thranduil repeated, his hand closing on the box while his reflection's hand closed on the necklace. His words were no longer just his.

"Either you give it to me and live or I shall kill you and all your people and prise it from your dead fingers."

"My people are strong; far stronger than yours. You will not kill them. And I will not give in to you!"

"Then die."

The Dwarf swung the axe high above his head and brought it down hard and fast into the Elf's back.

Screaming rang in his ears and it took him a few seconds to realise it was his. He clapped his hands over his ears and rolled out of bed onto the hard ground. He opened his eyes a fraction and saw a very worried Galion, Bard and Gandalf standing over him.

"Not again," he whimpered, trying as hard as he could to pull himself together now he knew he had foreign company.

"It was only a dream," Galion said, calmly.

Thranduil closed his eyes again. Big mistake. The true memory of when Thingol had been killed played over and over in his mind's eye. So he opened his eyes again and said,

"I vow never to touch that thing again. Don't anybody _dare _put it in my care!"

One of Thranduil's biggest fears, ever since he became king, was being stabbed in the back by a Dwarf for a jewel.

_I meth_

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A/N: well I hope whoever's got this far liked it. XD Guess what? This is yet another story written on a whim. lol

Cuio vae. xx


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